


Changed

by TheDistantDusk



Series: Canon Hinny one-shots (all ratings, no order) [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, Brotp, F/M, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/pseuds/TheDistantDusk
Summary: Because at the end of the day, they’re still Harry and Ron. They’re the two prats from Gryffindor who became best friends on the Hogwarts Express and got detentions together and shared a mutual loathing of Malfoy, all as their voices cracked.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Canon Hinny one-shots (all ratings, no order) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064753
Comments: 37
Kudos: 240





	Changed

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr ask about my favorite brotp. I hope you enjoy! HUGE thanks to Flo (as always) for Brit-picking and giving me tons of ideas and suggestions. You're the best!

Rain patters on the window of the attic, sounding angrier by the minute. For once, the exterior of the house is louder than the interior. This is quite a feat for the Burrow ever, but on an afternoon in June, it’s almost unheard of.

Harry lets out a deep breath, running his hand across his eyes. Over the past month, he’s adapted to the silence. He’s started to crave it, to consider it reassurance that everything’s on the mend. There aren’t explosions or calls for help or sobs emerging through the rubble and darkness. There’s simply quiet. Solitude. Even—

“HEY!” The door bursts open, slamming against the wall, as Ron pierces through the aforementioned solitude.

Harry just sighs and gets his glasses from the bedside table. No hope of an afternoon nap, it seems.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” Ron deadpans, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Harry rolls his eyes; since he and Ginny got back together, Ron and George have greatly enjoyed taking the mickey anywhere they can find it. Just yesterday, George had interrupted a perfectly good garden snog with a series of nonsensical, thinly-veiled questions (“Have you dipped your nib in ink, Harry? How was it? Please, I’m desperately curious for feedback on all nib-dipping experiences; this could be vital information for restocking a line of magical quills at the shop!”).

Now, though, the girls are off shopping; the Burrow is empty, save for the two of them. To Harry, this seems like much of the same.

“Interrupting a kip is the least of your worries, mate,” he mutters darkly, sitting up in bed. He hopes the meaning isn’t lost there. If Ron’s going to be a cock-block, he’s going to hear about it.

Ron doesn’t respond, though. Which is odd. So Harry slides on his glasses and takes in his appearance. Ron’s looming frame stands near the door, his freckles and red hair more distinctive than usual. It could be the lighting, Harry thinks; after all, it is quite gray and dim up here. Ah but no... that wouldn’t explain why he’s now awkwardly shifting in place, rubbing his palms against his jeans.

Then, Ron clears his throat — and suddenly, his face turns red instead of white. “Erm. Listen,” he starts uneasily, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I’ve erm... I’ve got something to discuss!”

He ends with a sort of jubilant bounce on the balls of his feet, wearing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Harry peers back warily. If Ginny were here, she’d suss this weirdness out straight away. She’d know, just from his posturing, what Ron’s getting at. A moment later, he opens his mouth to speak again — but just as quickly, he seems to decide something or other is a bad idea, because he waves his hand and strides toward his bed with an anxious huff. As if that explains anything.

“Right,” Ron says, settling down across from Harry. “ _Right_.”

“Right,” Harry echoes, arching an eyebrow. “You… feeling all right?”

“Mm.” Ron hunches over, his elbows on his knees, and stares at the floor.

As the seconds pass, Harry peers at Ron with a growing sense of dread. It’s rare he’s this quiet around him — and Harry doesn’t like it. It’s too reminiscent of darkness, of the times they’ve been at each other’s throats. Has Harry done anything to make him angry this time? He doesn’t think so. Ron’s been supportive, even, of his renewed relationship with Ginny. Apart from giving him shit for it.

This silence isn’t doing his head any favors, though. So Harry decides to break it.

“Listen,” Harry says uneasily. “I don’t want to pry, but—”

“—So you know Hermione and I are properly together, yeah?” Ron blurts, his words stringing together so fast they sound like a single syllable.

Harry clears his throat and tries to respond as delicately as he can. “Mate, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think most of the castle knows you’re properly together.”

But Ron’s not on the same page. “No,” he says over a humorless chuckle, his eyes still locked on the floor. “That’s erm. That’s not what I’m getting at.”

Then what…?

 _Oh_.

Oh no.

Harry’s stomach clenches with fear, head filling with memories that seem far more distant than a year old. He remembers Lupin’s drawn, tired eyes when he approached them in Grimmauld Place. He remembers the unflinching expression of horror and shock, the way he distanced himself from _Tonks’_ baby. He remembers the resigned tone in his voice, like a man marching to his own execution.

Then, of course, Harry remembers tiny little Teddy. The baby who’d charged in and changed everything. Tiny little Teddy, who is undeniably adorable… but also fuck-loads of work.

 _Shit_. Harry desperately blinks up at Ron, pleading with the universe that he’s wrong, that he’s made a mistake in this leap of logic. But there’s nothing reassuring about what he finds. Ron’s still staring at the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing, his back hunched.

This couldn’t be... _no_.

Hermione’s smarter than that, isn’t she? Hell, Ron — with his six siblings — must _also_ be smarter than that! They’d never let... something… happen.

Right?

But even as Harry tries to deny it, he knows there’s a chance — mostly because Hermione’s a right moron when her feelings get involved. _Fuck_. Harry’s stomach churns as the memories shift. He sees birds pecking at Ron’s hands in that abandoned classroom. He sees Hermione’s face when Ron returned to the tent last year, her eyes flaring with something unbridled and terrifying.

Best to get it over with, though. Like ripping off a plaster. If he’s going to be an _uncle_ (the word lands like a sour rock in his stomach), he reckons he’d rather know as soon as possible.

With that, Harry clears his throat. “Erm. Ron, I’m not going to push you, but—”

_“—Hermione wants to know if you want to arrange something where Ginny comes here at night and I go down there and we sleep there ok.”_

Somehow, this string of words comes out even more quickly than the first, leaving Ron in a red-faced, mortified silence; Harry only understands any of it at all because he knows Ron so well, but he gives both of them time to process the exacting wording of the declaration.

After a few seconds, though, Harry’s still not sure what to make of it — and not because he didn’t understand the literal words. No… the real fear is that he’s ignored what Ron actually said and supplanted what he wanted to hear.

So Harry draws a deep breath, guarding his heart as he does. “Ok ok ok,” he says, raising his hand. “I… I need to make sure I’ve understood you correctly. You’ve _only_ come in here to tell me that Hermione’s cooked up a shagging arrangement. Is… is that right?”

There’s another pause.

For his part, Ron only looks impressed. “Yeah mate,” he says fairly. “Sums it up.”

Oh for the _love_ of —

Harry releases a half-laugh, half-sigh as he collapses back on the bed. Shagging! That’s all Ron was after! For _fuck’s_ sake! Harry’s chest feels lighter, his head happier, his future brighter.

“You… seem surprised, though ” Ron notes, peering over. “What did you think—?”

Harry laughs again, cutting him off. “I thought you’d got her pregnant! I was terrified _for_ you! Can you even imagine—”

“Nooo!” Ron says sharply. He shudders, the color draining from his face. “ _No_ ,” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “No, I _cannot_ , so please don’t even joke about—”

“Oi, who’s joking?” Harry counters. “ _You’re_ the two who ran off to Australia and spent nights in hotels! Your mum was scandalized, by the way. It was brilliant.”

He ends with a grin, but it seems that the word _Australia_ was a bit of a trigger; Ron’s face is now blank and happy, his mouth spread into a gormless smile as he stares at the wall above Harry’s head.

 _Ugh_. Harry looks away. He’s glad he hasn’t volunteered his (rather unfortunate) knowledge that those two shagged before they even left the castle. Harry still can’t decide if Ginny’s ability to wheedle information out of people is a blessing or a curse, but he reckons it’s best to push the subject of Ron and Hermione’s sex life from his mind.

As if on cue, Ron sighs from his bed. Harry’s pleased to find he’s not making that weird Hermione face anymore, but he doesn’t look entirely… settled either. His expression is pensive, his arms crossed over his chest, and it takes a few more seconds for Harry to understand why — but when he does, it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his brain.

 _Oh_.

Harry releases a deep breath too. Ron hasn’t said a word, but he’s certain they’re both filled with this sort of… shuddering awareness of the situation at hand. Because this is the first time they’ve broached this, isn’t it? The fact that they’re intimate now, with each other’s sisters. Harry can’t decide if that’s more comforting or repulsive — but more than anything else, he reckons it’s just _different_. Nothing more, nothing less.

After all, it wasn’t long ago Harry was terrified they’d get together and leave him. But then they _did_ get together — right in front of him — and Harry wasn’t jealous or scornful; he was happy for them. He reckons he would’ve been chuffed, even, had they not been in the middle of a battle, but that hadn’t stopped them for long.

Then again, it also wasn’t long ago that Ron yelled at Ginny for snogging Dean. A year ago, Ron had yelled at _him_ for snogging Ginny — mostly because he’d been concerned about his sister’s feelings. Harry hadn’t blamed him for that, not really, but he nonetheless reckons it should’ve foreshadowed Ron’s cock-block tendencies.

Another vacant smile crosses Harry’s lips. They’ve all changed, haven’t they? War changed them, to the core. _Age_ changed them, to the core….

“Erm. But please, don’t give me details,” Ron blurts, apropos of nothing. He shivers again despite the warm afternoon. “I think I’d rather remove my fingernails with a blunt needle than hear about how much you love shagging my sister, thanks.”

Harry raises a brow. Technically speaking, Ron’s wrong in his conclusion. They haven’t exactly done _that_. Not properly, even if they’ve hedged around it more times than he can count. They’ve done basically everything but shag, actually, but Harry reckons that would be more mortifying to admit than just letting it go.

Not that they aren’t ready; Harry _knows_ they’re both ready. But through either sheer practicality (his reasoning) or misguided chivalry (Ginny’s), Harry couldn’t bear to live with himself if he took her virginity in their usual haunts of the garden or Mr Weasley’s shed.

Now, though, they’ve got… options. That Ron — of all people — has delivered on a silver platter.

Harry feels his pulse quicken at the thought as his jeans start to tighten. Aaand lovely, this is now thoroughly embarrassing. He needs a distraction, now.

So Harry loudly clears his throat and picks up the threads of their conversation. “Yeah, and I’ll trust you to do the same when it comes to Hermione. I’ve no desire to hear about—”

Ron interrupts with a wave of his hand, but when he speaks again, he’s not taking the mickey like before. “Noted,” he says firmly. “Just erm... I guess I also wanted to make sure... ” He trails off, biting his lip, but seems to think better of whatever he’d started. “Nevermind, it’s stupid. Do you want to play chess?”

Harry’s not letting him off the hook that easily. “Whatever it is, mate, I’m sure it’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Ron laughs. “Yeah, and that was kind of my point, actually.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck. When he looks at Harry again, there’s a telltale spark of reassurance shining behind his eyes. “You… erm. You know we’re still _us_ , yeah?”

 _Oh_.

Harry hadn’t realized he’d been that… transparent. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek. They’re _together_ now — all four of them, which is the best possible situation. But he can’t deny there’s a lingering fear that romantic relationships, _real_ ones, will change them forever. That he’ll lose the first friend he ever had. That they’ll finally have found the one thing they can’t talk about, even as the topic voraciously consumes both of their thoughts.

 _Has any of that happened, though?_ asks a voice in the back of his head. It sounds suspiciously like Ginny.

Harry’s lips curl into another smile as the answer comes to him.

No. No, it hasn’t.

Because at the end of the day, they’re still Harry and Ron. They’re the two prats from Gryffindor who became best friends on the Hogwarts Express and got detentions together and shared a mutual loathing of Malfoy, all as their voices cracked. They’re still Harry and Ron, who fought bitterly and pretended to hate each other and nearly vomited on each other and discussed wanking techniques.

No matter what, they’ll _always_ be Harry and Ron. Their relationship survived Voldemort. How could Harry have thought it wouldn’t survive sex?

“Yeah, we are,” he agrees. “Just, you know...” He makes a vague hand gesture. “Taller. Wiser.”

Ron smirks, rising to stand. “Actually, I was gonna go with shagging each other’s sisters — but if you’d like to pretend _you’re_ wiser...”

Harry chokes out a laugh. “I reckon Hermione’s still the wisest of us all, seeing how she arranged this. What time were you thinking, by the way?”

“Eleven minutes past ten,” Ron says promptly. “We reckon it’s less suspicious if it’s a bit off the hour.”

“Eleven minutes is highly specific, mate.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Please tell me that number wasn’t in your head because of some… personal record. Or something.” He makes a face and moves to stand, too.

Ron just jerks his chin towards the door. “Do you want to play wizard’s chess? And I’m not going to dignify that with a response, by the way — but just know, you’re definitely, definitely incorrect.” His lips twitch. “As well as a total wanker.”

Ha! He’s left himself wide open!

Harry laughs and strides into the hallway, too. “Only when I think about—”

“UGH!” Ron groans dramatically as they walk downstairs, but Harry can hear the grin in his voice. “I thought we agreed _never_ to discuss that!”

Harry spreads his palms in surrender, but doesn’t push it; Ron’s been more than understanding today, so he reckons he’ll let it slide — at least until the next time he tries to give him shit.

Then they march into the living room wearing stupid, contended grins, just as they’ve done a thousand times, for one reason or another. Then they play wizard’s chess, just as they’ve done a thousand times. Then Ron kicks Harry’s arse, just as _he’s_ done a thousand times.

Ron pumps his fist in triumph and lets out a jubilant yelp as he resets the board — and although Harry would never admit it aloud, he’s nonetheless reached a comfortable conclusion.

He’s fine with losing at wizard’s chess for the rest of his life… as long as he loses to _him_.


End file.
